


Come Morning

by dragonspell



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-30
Updated: 2010-04-30
Packaged: 2018-08-11 17:57:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7902265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonspell/pseuds/dragonspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean pretends that it doesn’t mean anything and Sam pretends that he doesn’t notice and come morning, nothing will have happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Morning

**Title:** Come Morning  
**Author:** [](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/)**dragonspell**  
**Fandom:** Supernatural  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Warnings/Spoilers:** None really, besides their dependency issues.  
**Summary:** Dean pretends that it doesn’t mean anything and Sam pretends that he doesn’t notice and come morning, nothing will have happened.  
**Word Count:** 900

  
He pretends that it doesn’t mean anything and Sam pretends that he doesn’t notice. They’re both very good at that: pretending. It’s what they’ve been doing all their lives. They’re con artists, taught to be the best at selling lies—even to themselves.

So, late at night, when Dean slips out of his own bed and crawls into Sam’s, they both lie to themselves. Dean pretends he’s fine, that they’re both fine, and really that there’s nothing wrong with their lives. Like there’s no reason at all why he’d need to feel close to Sam in the middle of the night—no reason why he’d need to curl up next to Sam, touching him to make sure he’s still there and no reason why he’d need to sleep safely encircled in the protection of Sam’s arms. In the light of day, Dean will pretend that nothing happened in the night and that he’s safe and secure and completely independent.

And when Dean does slide oh so quietly in beside Sam, lifting the covers and slipping between them, Sam pretends that it’s nothing as well. He pretends that it doesn’t mean the world to him that Dean trusts him again enough to do this—resuming a habit that’s been nearly 30 years in the making. He pretends that he’s not happy that Dean still needs this from him.

In the morning, Dean will be gone—have pulled himself out of Sam’s arms and slipped back into his own bed before daybreak, just like always—and Sam won’t say how soundly he slept with Dean next to him, how much he liked it, wanted it. He won’t say how much he can’t live without it.

That level of connection, that wonderful feeling of belonging—nothing can fill that gap. When things are bad between them, Sam feels empty inside and Dean won’t come to him. It’s like the world has turned against him and he doesn’t even have the comfort of Dean beside him.

He’s tried so hard to make it right again. Just for the moments like these—moments that won’t have happened come morning.

There’s a soft rustle of the comforter pulling back and the bed dips as Dean slowly crawls across the sheets to where Sam is lying in wait, carefully positioned. A queen-sized bed isn’t that big for two full grown men, not like how it used to be for two scrawny boys, but they’ve never needed that much room when it comes to each other. No concept of personal space.

Dean’s warm as he presses against Sam, curling into the curve that Sam’s deliberately placed himself in. When Sam laid down a few hours ago, his every thought was of now—was of Dean solid and alive beside him. Neither of them say a word as Sam fixes the covers and wraps his arms around Dean, holding him close. Dean sighs and Sam shivers but both of them keep their mouths shut.

Words would just ruin everything because this isn’t about that. This isn’t about anything but them. It never has been.

Sam leans over just a bit more, brushing his nose against Dean’s hair, smelling the familiar traces of old leather and engine oil and the cologne that Dean swears he doesn’t use. Dean pushes in closer, allowing Sam’s touch and together they lie there, silent in the dark with nothing but their steady, even breaths and the slow slide of Sam’s hand on Dean’s back to let them know that this is real.

Come morning, they’ll both pretend that it didn’t even happen. They’ll both pretend that nothing ever happens. Sam knows, though, just how much Dean and he need this. He knows that they can’t live without it—that Dean needs it just as much as Sam and that Sam needs it more than anything.

It’s salvation packed into a few stolen hours in the night. Hope and home encased in Dean’s slow breaths and relaxed frame. It’s trust and love and a steady knowledge that if everything else goes to shit, at least they still have each other.

It’s the only thing that gets Sam through anymore. Yet come morning, nothing will have happened. But Sam thinks it’s much better for nothing to have happened each morning than to lose this. He’s already lost it more than once—thrown it away or had it ripped from him. He won’t go through that again.

No one needs to know. And they’re so good at selling lies.

They’ll keep doing this until forever—they’ve both figured out that they don’t like being alone. Dean will come to Sam each night and curl up beside him like a long lost lover, like the other half of Sam’s soul, and his body will promise to keep Sam sane. Sam will fix the covers and wrap Dean up tight, his own assurance of protection just as wordless and just as constant. Together, they’ll keep each other safe in the dark.

They pretend that they don’t need this, even if they both know better. They pretend that their shared warmth isn’t the only thing keeping them from falling off the cliff into oblivion. Dean sleeps soundly against Sam and their breaths fall into an easy rhythm and they pretend that it doesn’t mean anything.

No one needs to know and come morning, nothing will have happened.  



End file.
